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Messed Up Royally
Vos. Such a beautiful city, full of beautiful people and equally beautiful sights. So just why is Blast Off in one of the most expensive sectors of the city? Why, to answer an invitation, of course. It would direct him to one of the high rise buildings in the area, then up to the master suite at the top where he'd come face to face with Rend standing guard in front of a set of large, double doors. Growling under his vocals, the beetle narrows his optics at the shuttle mech and crosses his arms across his broad chest. "State your business." Blast Off can't deny the appeal. He loves this sector of the city. It's not far from where he once lived. Just walking through the neighborhood is bringing back a flood of nearly /painfully/ sweet memories. That building there has the most EXCELLENT little bar inside, and that one there hosts the most exquisite arts events. Oh, and let's not forget the theater over there! *swoon* Blast Off misses this all so bad it HURTS. Feeling bittersweet about it all, he steps into the highrise and rides up, up up until he is greeting by a churlish beetle. Blast Off still has some residue of the Insecticon phobia Bombshell installed in him, and he has to mentally keep himself from wincing. Instead, he does his best to just look *haughty*. "I am Blast Off. I was /invited/." Why? He's still not sure. Internally, he double-checks his radio network... if this is a trap he isn't going to be caught alone. Not THIS time. Vortex is in town and he'd have quick backup, and could probably count on swindle, too- if anything happened. But for now- he's just curious. And- wary. Always wary. Rend doesn't appear at all put off at the mech's hauty reply, instead staring in complete and utter silence. It's.. possibly unnerving, even, for how long he does this, though eventually he manages a snort and a cruel little smirk. "Ohh, right. You're /that/ mech. Queen's got a thing for you, uh? Good luck." A deep chuckle escapes the beetle and he turns, opening the door to allow Blast Off inside. And what an interior! The foyer is complete marble and only decorated with the finest pieces, alluding to the price of this particular hotel suite. This is where Deadlift greets him, seemingly waiting just for the shuttle. ..Though in truth Rend likely hailed him. Still, the smaller mech nods and gestures off. "Follow me, the Queen awaits." And off they go, through the decadent living room and down a short hallway to another set of double doors. It's in here that Scorn is found, in the master bedroom sitting in front of a vanity mirror. "I'm still not sure. You don't think it would be too flashy?" She questions idly to the spider mech who idly polishes her, though she catches a glimpse of the door opening and turns to greet Blast Off with a growing smile. "Ah, Blast Off. So good to see you again. I take it you found the place alright?" Blast Off is trying to look haughty and unimpressed, yes. Though Rend's little comment and smirk causes the shuttle to falter just *ever so slightly* in that regard. Hmmm. What's he mean by...? But no time to really dwell on it. Ok, radio is still working, so help isn't too far away. Not that an /amazing/ space warrior like Blast Off would actually NEED any help! It's just... being drawn into something that *seems* really amazing hasn't always worked out well for him. But at least THIS isn't some dirty underground cramped cellar. And indeed- this is NOTHING like that place. Blast Off is so impressed he almost wants to go ROLL AROUND on that marble floor.... *ahem* but that wouldn't be dignified. So instead he follows Deadlift- into the master bedroom? The shuttle hesitates at THIS little detail, stopping in the doorway before finally getting the courage to step inside. ONE step. Then he attempts to look suave, despite a small case of nerves. He gives Scorn a very polite, slow bow. "Greetings. Yes." He straightens to look around. "You have a beautiful place here." "What, this little place?" Scorn smirks and looks at the arrangement of the room with its expensive furniture and massive recharge berth. "I suppose it's alright. Certainly suitable for my needs." Oh if only he could see what it was like at home, then he'd be gawking so much he'd have to pick up his jaw from the floor. "But please, so come in and relax. Would you care for a drink?" She gestures to a comfortable looking chair nearby and stands, nodding to Deadlift who looks to Blast Off expectantly, ready to get drinks. In the meantime, the Queen moves to join him on the adjacent seat, crossing on long leg over the other and smiling cooly to him. "Forgive me for setting up such an unconventional meeting, but I figured this place would be as good as any. So tell me, how have you been? Staying out of trouble, what with these raids and fights breaking out, I hope?" Little place? Oh, it must be GOOD to be QUEEN. Blast Off feels a little pang of jealousy and has to stifle a whimper of longing looking all around him. Ooohhh... it's sooo beautiful..... he feels like a moth drawn to the flame. He just better be sure not to get burned. The shuttle pauses, eyeing the chair, the recharge berth.... is this normal? Do insecticons usually greet company in their bedrooms? He takes a step forward, not wanting to seem impolite, then hesitates again. "I... I see." He nods, "Yes, a drink would be ...lovely." He takes a step towards the chair, but doesn't quite sit down yet. "Pardon, but.... why did you want to meet me?" ...optics drift to the recharge berth. "...here." And just like that, Deadlift is off to fetch something for them. Scorn's gaze lazily follows Blast Off's towards the berth and she can't help but snort softly in amusement. "Dear, if I wanted you in my berth I would have done so by now. I'll admit, I'm quite intrigued by you, but perhaps another time. But no, I was actually just getting ready for another meeting when you happened to show up. Why move to the other room when we can just chat here?" Deadlift returns with a tray, easily carrying the bottle of enerwine with two glasses, along with the equivalent of whiskey with two tumblers. Setting the tray upon the small coffee table between them, he bows and excuses himself. Scorn has yet to pour herself anything and instead continues. "I actually called you here to.. Well, let's just say I wish to ask a favor of you. Maybe it will happen, maybe it won't. I need some insurance that, should I wish to leave Cybertron, that I'll be able to." She stands now, walking over to the large closet and sliding the door open. Dear Primus, the gleam of the outfits in there! It's a wonder one doesn't go blind. "I know your government isn't particularly fond of people leaving, and with my ship under watch in Ibex it can.. make things difficult." She fingers through the garments, taking one or two out to examine. "So I need a surefire way of leaving. That is where you come in." Scorn glances back to him, smirking softly and holding up an elegant, gold piece glimmering with gem accents. "Too flashy?" The shuttleformer /freezes/ for a second as Scorn just outright SAYS what he was thinking about that berth. OH MY~ Some of his armor plating might turn just a slight shade more red than purple, too. Then he remembers to actually *speak* and says, "....Oh." SO ELOQUENT. And so Blast off listens, and by the time Scorn gets to just WHY she wanted him.... oh, this most definitely has his interest. "You want me to agree to transport you to space, then?" His violet optics flare momentarily with excitement, then he remembers to quiet them. Aloof. Aloof and calm, yes. "Ah. Well, I *am* a space shuttle, and one of the best, of course. But...." His optics dim just a bit. "It isn't exactly easy to break into orbit without the orbital patrol breathing down your necks. Do you have a cloaking device or some other way to escape their notice?" As Scorn gets up to rummage through the closet, she brings out a gold piece that dazzles and shines almost like the stars themselves. The shuttleformer almost has to shield his optics, but.... how exquisite it really is! He finds himself just sort of... staring as she holds it up. His slight ...unsettled feel he gets from her being an Insecticon gets sort of shorted-out by the dazzle. "It is.... quite lovely." And he means it. "You think so?" Scorn smiles, almost warm and inviting as she approaches the mech with gown in hands. "Hm.. Then I shall wear it. It's interesting to see how little garments Cybertronians wear, Yuss not included. Fashion is quite common on Animatron, what with the abundance of arachnicons." Removing the dress from its hanger, she slips it on with ease with the entire back of it split down the middle. "Viscera, if you would?" The sound of transformation is heard from the corner of the room and a massive spider skitters towards them, clicking at Blast Off to move before he approaches the Queen and gets to work using skilled forelimbs to literally sew up the back of the dress with his metal silk, making it seamless. All the while this is happening, Scorn goes back to the previous topic, appearing pensive while speaking. "Hm.. I have a few plans in mind, but nothing concrete to elaborate on just yet. Instead I'd wish to know what you'd want in return for such a service." This is where she looks at him squarely, those fierce, gold optics meeting his along with the cool smile of a well seasoned businessfemme. "There is much I can give you. Perhaps you would enjoy money? Supplies? Or even a spot in my empire. You'd be well taken care of, I assure you." Blast off tilts his head at that. Clothes aren't really something he has ever... worn. He has seen alien species doing it, but few Cybertronians do. But that dress is.... is amazing. And it really accentuates the femme's curves, showing off her.... *ahem*. the Combaticon blinks and may possibly turn just a slight draker shade of red now. He looks away to regain his composure, then returns with a polite, "Indeed." When Viscera suddenly appears (OMP was she there ALL the TIME?!) the shuttle can't completely hide that he's a bit startled. Tensing and gripping the chair's edge, he quickly moves away. And tries not to look unsettled. He is still trying to get used to Insecticons, and Bombshell didn't help any. As for the rest, Blast Off stops.... and pinders the possibilities. His optics widen once more. He has had so much taken away as of late. He's lost so much. He lost a place almost as nice as this. Ok, not AS nice... but still quite respectable. And now here is a Queen offering him... anything? "Uh... I... I...." He isn't even sure where to begin, what to say. "...What is Animatron like?" Were Scorn not looking at Blast Off she'd have the most wicked grin when he asks of her planet. It's so very hard to resist the lure of such offers. Instead she gains a kinder appearance, speaking fondly of her homeland now. "Animatron is a marvelous place. Where Cybertron embraces technology, we remain closer to the planet and welcome the beauty that is nature. True, there are many vast cities, but we try to integrate it with our surroundings as best we can to preserve out connection to it." Once Viscera is finished she thanks him and steps to the triple, floor length mirrors to admire the shimmering outfit that hugs her form in all the right places and flows elegantly off the rest. "But.. depending on how events proceed here on Cybertron, I may not be seeing my homeland anymore." At this she waves a hand to become him closer, having him view the both of them in the mirror as she smirks and reaches a hand up to tease sharp fingers along his jaw. "If it comes to that, I will be bringing my people to space to start anew. It will not be Animatron, but you would still be welcome amongst us, should you wish. All of this really depends on how things occur with this new pawn, the Decepticons, in play." She quiets then, eyeing him in a curious manner and knits brows before speaking carefully. "You are one to listen, yes? One who travels around and hears much? Tell me, then, just what is it these Decepticons hope to achieve here? I've grown curious of their motives." The Combaticon shuttle listens to Scorn's description of Animatron. It sounds interesting, though he's not so sure how appealing "nature" would be. That depends... he's more of a city mech, really. Well- except for the nature of *space*. That vast stretch of eternity that embraces and comforts and carries you to the stars and beyond. The shuttle's somewhat distant gaze is brought back to reality as Viscera (oh, that's a HE not a SHE... well, a lot of Insecticons kind of look the same to the snooty shuttle!) leaves. But Scorn is definitely a femme. He glances to those curves despite himself, then returns to the matters at hand. He comes a little closer, still a mite mesmerized... but not too close, and when her hand reaches up to his jaw he steps back, blinking. Too close. Must have personal space. especially... from a femme. yes, Feint traumatized the shuttle and now getting too close to a femme can trigger a *panic*. Alas. So instead he tries to cover up that nervousness and turn, hands behind his back, to pace the room. "Ah. Uh.... yes, the Decepticons seek *change*. Surely you've seen how corrupt this planet's government is? They are tired of being brainwashed and empurated and otherwise manipulated and lied to- and ready to DO something about it. Ready to WASH out the rust once and for all." Scorn doesn't appear too pleased to see Blast Off reject her touch. Hm.. Something she'll have to work on with him, it seems. But she doesn't mention it right now, too busy listening to his explaination of the Decepticons. My, isn't he a passionate one. "I've noticed, certainly. ..Their treatment of my kin is a disgrace, and perhaps something I will be aiming to correct in the near future. So the Decepticons and I may have a growing similarity." Does this mean she'll join them? Possibly, but she has a few more things to do and secure before she takes that leap and abandons her democratic position. "But of course, you didn't hear that from me." A wide, sharp smile graces her pretty features and she flashes a wink to the mech. Blast Off, scorn will find, is a bit of a lonely, neurotic mess as far as femmes and company goes. But she can find that in due course. In the meantime, he paces... then slows down and stops, turning to look at her thoughtfully. Yes. that's right. An Insecticon probably *would* have a lot in common with a Decepticon. He decies to offer this: "Yes. There are a growing number of Insecticons among the Decepticons, in fact. The two groups share many common goals- and grievances. They are both fighting against a system that tells them to shut up, be turbo-sheep and mindlessly accept whatever the Senate tells them to do. Usually to their great suffering and struggle." As for her last statement, he waves a hand and lets out a slightly amused-sounding... is that a chuckle? Not quite. Huff? Perhaps so. "Hear.... what?" He won't tell her secrets. Neurotic mess or not, Scorn usually gets what she wants in the end, so it's only a matter of time before her efforts on the mech end in her favor. "Then maybe I should speak with their leader at some point. Perhaps arrange something. But all in due time. As for right now I've suddenly become curious about something." Scorn turns to him fully and flashes an impish smirk while moving towards him, hoping to push him straight to one of the corners of the room so he has nowhere else to flee. And only when she's near enough does she hook two sharp digits under his collar plating, holding him still and preventing him from running. "And that is /you/." Smile positively drips with devilish charm down at him when tugging him closer to her. "Correct me if I'm wrong, but you seem like a mech of good taste. Very much enamoured with the finer things in life. So tell me.." Her grip tightens and she forces him to accept the hand that comes up to fondly caress the side of his face, her own softening under the dimming glow of gold optics. "Why is it that you look at me in such ways, yet shy from my touch? I would have imagined a mech such as you would be elated to be so aquainted with a Queen. Or am I just not your type?" Blast Off nods to Scorn. "Megatron resides in Kaon. If you are interested in meeting him, head there- to the Forge, and ask to see him. The Decepticons are seeking allies." Then Scorn mentions that she is curious about something, and the shuttleformer stops and looks over /just/ in time to see her coming right at him. Which gives him just a split-second of a "deer in the headlights" look before he gets pushed into a corner. CORNERED. Blast Off reacts immediately, swinging his arms up and trying to kick and squirm free as she snags the mech under his collar plating. "Get-OFF!" Sadly for him, strength is NOT ... a strength of his. "Let me //GO//!!!" He yelps, then both his ventilation systems and cooling fans kick in as she pulls him even closer. Almost wheezing from stress now, he has no choice but to deal with that hand caressing the side of his face- though he flinches and winces. Her finger strokes a cheek, and that's just too much. Something snaps inside. The shuttle goes off in a blind panic, arms flailing, legs kicking, engines revving and then cooling down as if he's fighting the impulse to *transform* right here and now IN HER BEDROOM and just shoot out of here in shuttle mode, Scorn's habsuite and this building be /slagged/. "UNHAND ME!!!!" His cultured voice is oddly strangled and broken. Literally in the hands of a lovely, well dressed femme in one of the fanciest hotel rooms in Vos.. and Blast Off rejects it. Scorn wonders if she'll ever understand this strange mech, but it will obviously take time. Angered at the fact that she's being denied something, Scorn resists the growing anger that bubbles beneath the surface of her usually eloquent demeanor. It almost hurts to give in to his demand, but she forces herself to finally let him go after he manages to strike her across the face. The stinging pain draws an bristling hiss from the femme, a hand to her cheek now, but she tries to shake it off and instead frown to him. "..Forgive me. It appears what I thought of you was incorrect. ..You're free to go." The words are bitter and hurt, but she does nothing else except turn from him and move back to her vanity mirror to inspect the small dent to the side of her helm. Something easy to fix, unlike what just happened. This may have just cost her her ride off Cybertron.. Unfortunately, Scorn triggered the false memory that Feint implanted there. The images of that femme being flayed alive /right on TOP of him/, then her dead face knocked /again and again/ into his own. WANT SOME KISSEYFACE, SHUTTLE? The mocking cruelty of the imaginary (but seemed so real) Enforcers haunts every interaction he's had with a femme since. The shuttleformer wheezes in stress as he's finally allowed free, scuttling back and away and into another corner where he looks to be in a state of shock. He... wasn't expecting that. He KNEW he had some problems, but... not like THAT. His ventilation systems cycle and wheeze as he tries to calm himself down, bringing a hand up to his head. He looks miserable and possibly even a bit... ashamed. Finally, though, the cycling returns to something at least resembling a normal state and his hand comes down as his face turns to her. "I... I...." He suddenly looks /mortified. Oh slag. What DID he do? He lost ALL control, made a FOOL out of himself, made a fool out of HER (a QUEEN no less)... he has royally botched this. "I.... I..." Pause. "...Forgive /me/." He whispers, optics looking away, and he starts making his way unsteadily towards the door. Scorn's antennas twitch when they pick up his whispered apology, optics shifting at the mvement they catch of him about to exit back the way he came. ..Damnit, she couldn't let him go that way. Not with the managerie of uneasy, riled clicks that can be heard beyond. Her group knows something isn't right, but she wavespeaks for them to stay out. "Stop.. Not that way." Scorn says quietly and stands with a sigh before making her way to the large window overlooking the city. "They're not very happy, so this is safer." With hands upon the latch, the mantis pauses and frowns at her reflection in the window. "..We all have our demons, Blast Off, and I apologize for dredging up yours. My station isn't easy and it is.. a lonely one, but that is no excuse." Unlocking it, Scorn silently pulls open his escape route and glances to him, her face carrying a hint of uncertainty. "I hope this hasn't.. soured your thoughts on my proposal. Goodnight." The now embarrassed Combaticon stumbles towards the door, in a hurry to excuse himself and get OUT of here so he can go hide in shame alone somewhere. There's no snooty shuttle here right now. He doesn't feel like he can look her in the optics. Scorn's command sifts through the haze of embarrassment, however, and he slows down, pausing at the door and resting a hand on the frame. He still doesn't look her way- not until she urges him to exit via window. Now he *has* to, so he does... hesitantly. And considers. He CAN hear some odd clicking just outside. Perhaps... he should do as told. Just this once. This means he has to come *closer* to Scorn, but he fights the urge to look worried about that. He tries to keep at least a tiny *shred* of dignity. That's what he fought to keep in prison, it's what he'll try to keep here. If there's any to be found now; any to be salvaged here. Blast Off steps closer to the femme, looking weary. He stops and dares to look her in the optics. And despite their close proximity now, he lifts his chin and tries to look like the High Class mech he once was. "You are forgiven. As I hope... you may forgive me." Pause. He feels he owes her at least some explaination. "I seem to carry... a few more scars than I realized from my time in prison. THEIR prison. The Autobots." He steps through the window, feeling the wind on his face. "This is the corruption- the abuse- the planet's population is dealing with now. And it is why I will FIGHT them." He then turns to look at her once she brings up the proposal. "No, I will consider it. Good night." And with that, he leaps into the sky, transforms into a MUCH more impressive and large shuttle, and flies towards distant lights.